


Make This Go On Forever

by LivingInSmilesIsBetter (axm)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Cancer Arc (X-Files), Case Fic, Episode: s05e01-02 Redux, Episode: s05e04 Detour, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hotel Sex, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24935497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axm/pseuds/LivingInSmilesIsBetter
Summary: It's summer in Montana, and while some bodies are turning up dead others are rediscovering life.Post-Redux.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 32
Kudos: 82
Collections: X-Files Smut Fanfic Exchange (2020)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScullyGolightly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyGolightly/gifts).



> For ScullyGoLightly, who asked for: “Rimming, dirty talk, getting caught, sex injury, titty fuck, anger bang, grief bang, pegging, cuffs/bondage, toys (use any, none or all – whatever you’re comfortable with). No pregnancy/baby fics, or anything overly fluffy.”  
> Well. I included about half of what was mentioned above. I really pulled back on the fluff, but even then it strayed well into fluff territory at times. There’s some angst, some fluff, some smut, a case, and it’s the first x-files fic I’ve written since 2001.  
> Flew beta-free on this due to finishing it with minutes to spare, so I apologise for continuity issues and any glaring mistakes. 
> 
> Takes place between Redux II and Detour.

**_Make This Go On Forever_ **

The sky was on fire. Wisps of orange swept through the darkening sky, cutting through hues that were almost purple. It wasn’t an X-File. It was dusk in Montana, and he loved it. Mulder loved the stars he knew would soon be above him, and the crisp bite in the clean air. And he loved the fact his partner almost blended in with the red sky.

Scully eyed him with suspicious interest as he smiled to himself. “Mulder?” she questioned, gazing over at him across the top of their rental car. Glacier International Airport behind them, Kalispell to the right, Whitefish to the left, if they ever got out of this airport parking lot. “Something you’d like to share?”

Life. The universe. Everything. “Nothing important.” Once, not so long ago, he would have turned the words swirling in his mind into sentences and dropped some existential thoughts on her. But barely two weeks had passed since she’d left the hospital, her terminal cancer in remission. Two weeks and he was finding himself still reining in his thoughts, censoring what he said out loud. And the truth of that was it was more for his sake. More because he had seen a glimpse of a life without her, for the second time in five years, and the thought alone had cracked his heart and soul into impossibly small pieces.

* * *

A heavy raindrop left a trail of water down the outside of the car window. Scully almost reached out, almost followed it with the tip of her finger, like she was seven again.

She looked past it, to the blur of Montana out the window. Past Columbia Falls, near Hungry Horse, the evening sky had darkened quickly and the rain had begun to fall. Out there, if it had been light enough to make out more than muted colors, she would have seen it all: the mountains, the trees. They had been here before. Been near here before. Browning, MT. Their first year together. Now, entering their fifth year, she considered that maybe she might be able to call that early case’s suspect something other than a man.

No.  
No, she wasn’t quite there yet.

There were no werewolves in those mountains. No, this was just another lake monster hoax. Or another alligator, instead, perhaps.  
Mulder had promised no late-night monster hunts on the lake this time, but she would believe that when it didn’t happen. Or still maybe not even then.  
West Glacier. Lake McDonald. Apgar. Tourist Mecca. Dead bodies. Blurry photos. And she wished she cared.

* * *

Mulder eased the car into a parking spot outside Eddie’s Mercantile. The drive from Glacier Airport hadn’t been long, about forty minutes, but she was famished. Mulder, it seemed, was as well.

“Dinner?” he asked. “Breakfast?”

It was near nine in the evening, but she knew he was still craving the pancakes he saw in Dulles as they had hurried to catch their flight. She didn’t disagree with the suggestion. Either of them. Dinner, breakfast, had they even had lunch today? She didn’t feel like anything much, her stomach empty but rebelling against the thought of a heavy meal, so the pancakes that neither had mentioned out loud suddenly sounded just as appealing as a proper dinner. The lake sat quietly to their right, the water gently lapping against the stony shore, and she knew how hard it was for him to keep from running straight to it. She knew it was taking every ounce of strength he had to not start investigating. Maybe even find his lake monster this time.

But both were painfully aware of the last time either had forced food into themselves today, and without looking at him she knew he had taken notice of her slim frame; she knew he saw it all.

She had lost weight recently. Her pants sat lower on her hips and her bras weren’t as snug as they had once been. Not that he would have noticed that, but she felt it, saw it every time she dressed. The steroids that kept her from suffering nausea and kept allergic reactions at bay had puffed her face up. Not a lot, but enough to balance out her weight loss. So, she almost looked normal. Almost. To anyone around her, to strangers.  
The puffiness wouldn’t last much longer. She had hoped her body might catch up before her face thinned out and Mulder noticed. But, of course, he already had, because nothing got past her observant, caring partner.  
The steroids were also supposed to increase her appetite, but stress and an awful chemical taste in her mouth had won, and food hadn’t been a priority. Now, her appetite simply hadn’t returned. But she nodded, silently agreed to eat. Dinner, lunch, whatever he wanted. She would force a bite or two, and it might keep the worry from deepening the lines in his face - at least until tomorrow.

* * *

He watched as she pushed the blueberry pancakes around her plate. She would take a bite, chew slowly, cut up another piece, and then reorganize the contents on her plate with her fork. Like she was running the piece through the syrup, but in reality she was just stalling. Four bites in thirty minutes and a cup of coffee. It wasn’t what he would have liked, but he would accept it. He knew not to push. Her appetite was still recovering. She was still recovering. It was hard to watch his best friend force food into her mouth. It had been harder watching her fade away on a hospital bed, skin so pale she almost became one with the bed sheets, her red hair stark like a blood stain on a starched pillow. But even that hadn’t been quite the contrast it should have been. He thought, even then, that her hair had lost its brightness while she had fought her cancer. Everything in their world had been just a little darker for a while there. He sipped his coffee, pretended to study the handful of photos on the table in front of him, all blurry shots of the lake, and hoped Scully would find her spark again during their time in Glacier. Just like having her back at his side always returned his.

* * *

The constellations painted a masterpiece of stars across the endless sky. The early summer Flower Moon hung large above them as they followed the silvery path of its glow back to their motel. Mulder walked at his partner’s side, biting his tongue so not to comment on the ethereal glow radiating off and around her. It looked like life, like everything they thought they had lost. He wouldn’t comment on it. Not tonight. Probably not ever. That wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. But something was changing, the tone of their relationship shifting, and staring at her now he pondered all the things he wanted to share with her. 

His thoughts were loud in the silence of a Montana night. Four years together and his brooding couldn’t be hidden from her. Not a word was spoken between them as Scully’s hand reached out for his, and he took it. Her smaller fingers curled warmly around his larger palm. Everything about her was so small. Especially with the weight loss they never spoke of, never acknowledged. Another thing added to the list of what must never be acknowledged. It was growing too long now.  
He looked down. Her hand was snug in his, and the contact warmed him as the temperature dipped in Glacier. Was she his anchor, mooring him to sanity, or was he hers? If any separation existed anymore, did it even matter?

He had hesitated, marveling at her tiny hand and the slim fingers between his larger ones, distracted. She gave him a gentle tug, pulled him forward, let go of his hand, and then gave him a playful shove from behind. She was guiding him to his motel room.  
The one next to hers.  
With adjoining doors.  
He had almost suggested sharing a room when they had booked the accommodation. Almost quipped about the option again now, half-joking, and half serious. Mostly serious. There was a need to keep an eye on her, to make sure, for his own assurance, that she was as fine as she made out she was. A deeper need too, to hold her in his arms, and again he didn’t know who it was for anymore.  
She had seen it all, in his eyes, reading his expressions like they were words on his face, and a quick shake of her head, a warning in her eyes, his name leaving her lips in a tone deeper than her usual, had all closed his lips again. So adjoining rooms it would be. A compromise to a suggestion he had never been allowed to ask.

“Get some sleep, Scully. We’ll go monster hunting tomorrow.”

She smiled, dropped his hand, and entered her motel room. The door closed behind her with a gentle click.

He stared at the barrier between them and swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat.  
He loved her.  
He could never tell her.


	2. Chapter 2

“Get up, Scully. We got a body.”

Once upon a time, before meeting Mulder, before chasing monsters in the dark, Scully had typically awoken to the buzz of her bedside alarm, or whatever song the radio was playing at the time depending on the setting she had decided upon the night before. It was a choice, one that hadn’t fully been appreciated at the time. She realized that now.   
Back when the cobwebs of sleep were cleared slowly, brushed aside by a quiet buzzing she didn’t hate, or an easy-listening oldies tune. Back when she would be coaxed gently back to awareness, her familiar bedroom surrounding her, well-worn sheets cocooning her, and each day starting calmly.

1993 had changed all of that.

Lying in bed, in the unfamiliar, cramped motel room, there was nothing gentle about this morning. Scrubbing a hand up over her eyes, Scully listened as Mulder didn’t so much knock as bang a heavy fist against the wooden door. The _hollow_ adjoining door.

“Scully?” he called. “You awake?”

Pushing the sheets back, she got out of bed and rubbed again at her bleary eyes as she padded barefoot toward the door. She pulled it open to find Mulder on the other side, fully dressed, wide-awake, a cup of motel-room coffee in his hand.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

She checked her watch. “It’s six am,” she told him. “People have been murdered for less.”

“Which is exactly why we gotta go into Kalispell to do an autopsy.” He paused. “Well, you do. I’m staying here to investigate the scene.” He sipped his coffee and watched her, like he was waiting for her to draw her gun and put one right between his eyes. For an extra hour’s sleep? It was tempting…

Instead, her tired brain slowly caught up with his words. “What happened?”

“They found a body by the dock. Local sheriff thinks the wounds look like those on the other victim.”

During the two flights from Dulles to Seattle to Kalispell, almost nine hours of traveling in total including the stop over, Scully had had plenty of time to get caught up on the case. Two bodies, and two missing person cases, in four weeks. One a week over the course of a month. Maybe unrelated, but strange in the fact West Glacier rarely saw so many deaths. There had been obvious bear attacks in the past, missing hikers, bodies occasionally spat out of the base of glaciers thanks to a warming planet, and of course hunting mishaps. But something about this screamed X-File to Mulder, although she was yet to see it herself. She knew Mulder though, knew there was more to this than he had shared with her.

“Give me five minutes, then we’ll go for breakfast and you can explain to me what you think I should be looking for during this autopsy.” She closed the adjoining door, noting he had taken a hasty step back to avoid a bruised face.

Today, everything hurt, and the bathroom mirror revealed slightly red skin above the bridge of her nose, the pigment crossing her forehead. Her nose would be peeling soon, like it was the mid-eighties and a summer spent in San Diego with her parents between semesters away at college. The inevitable tender nose from forgetting to put Zinka on it again. Trends had never been something she had cared for. Maybe cancer should have been something she could have been more aware of. Because this time, it wasn’t a suntan burning her nose but a delayed reaction to the radiotherapy. At least she might avoid her skin blistering, lucky in the sense she didn’t have as many radiotherapy sessions as initially planned. Thanks to Mulder and the potentially miraculous chip that she tried not to think too hard about.

Mulder. In his eyes, her treatment had finished, she was in remission, and everything was fine.

For Scully, some effects were only just beginning to show: the effect of radiotherapy; how her body still recovered from chemotherapy. The battle was ongoing, despite the chip, despite her remission.   
A splash of water on her face, her teeth brushed, skin moisturised with one of the few oncology-approved products, Scully finished the process by patting some ivory pressed powder onto her face, an attempt to subdue the redness. A redness that would likely just get worse in the coming days.

* * *

  
“What are you hoping to find out here, Mulder?” she asked as they sat in Eddie’s, the café to themselves as the rest of Glacier slept.

He shrugged and swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “The usual.” His gaze dropped to the photos he had pulled out, and his eyes scanned them for that ever-elusive piece of evidence. A lifelong crusade for something tangible, something to hold out to her so she couldn’t deny the facts anymore.

Mirth filled her voice as she asked, “A monster?” She sipped her coffee and waited.

Instead of agreeing, he looked up and met her eyes. “What are you expecting to find?”

“Either a very human killer, or an angry grizzly,” she said out loud. Silently, she thought, _Nothing_. And certainly nothing that would sway her skeptical mind.

The scene of the last death was nothing more now than a small patch of huckleberry bushes surrounded by yellow tape. That was all it would have stayed, the local forensic examiner having already investigated the scene, if she and Mulder hadn’t arrived in town. That was where Mulder was headed today, to trample through berry bushes with hope to find whatever it was he thought he was looking for. Meanwhile, Scully would have the displeasure of meeting the local sheriff and be greeted with the usual disdain. At least she might get to skip the incredulous version of the disdain, the one that typically followed whatever theory Mulder had presented local law enforcement with.   
Yeah, that was always a good time.

Scully sighed and forced her mood to shift. “But maybe this case will surprise me.”

Mulder sat a little straighter at her words and raised his eyebrows. A small smile played on his lips.

“ _Maybe_ it will surprise me,” she stressed before he could make a scene. “Maybe, Mulder.”

He grinned. 

Scully turned and gazed out towards the lake. “So, what is this, Mulder? Big Blue part two?” She turned back to him. “You haven’t hit me with your usual wild theories yet, and, frankly, I’m a little concerned.”

“Not a lake monster,” he replied. Eggs finished, he wiped his hands on his pants and touched a corner of a crime scene photo to bring it closer to himself. “Flathead Lake is famous for a monster, but McDonald has never had any unusual sightings. No, this is something else.”

“Or someone else,” she reminded him.

Without looking up, he simply said, “We’ll see.”  
  
---


	3. Chapter 3

The shower washed the smell of formaldehyde and death off her, but the hot water couldn’t quell her exhaustion.  
She had arrived at the medical examiner’s office at eight a.m. and had sat in her car sipping motel coffee while she’d waited for them to open. Once inside, she had performed the autopsy in four hours, and then spent the rest of the day in the office, reading up on the autopsy of the other victim. Mulder had phoned a few times. “How’s the autopsy going?” “You heading back soon?” “I hear the restaurant does a mean cherry pie.”  
It was after the cherry pie comment that she’d admitted, “I found something interesting, Mulder. Animal hair on the body, same kind as what was also found on the other victim. I’ve sent it off for analysis, but it looks like… deer?” He had been silent for a moment after that. “I’m only telling you because I know you’re out there looking for a scaly sea-serpent, but I think it might just be a mangy bear.”  
She dried her hair, smoothed it down even though she would be in bed soon, knowing if she didn’t she would wake up to curls that couldn’t be tamed, and wondered if the color was as dull as it appeared in the mirror or if it was just the muted light in this cramped motel bathroom. She thought how he hadn’t seemed to find her mention of animal hair strange, like he had expected it. But he had only thanked her and said he would see her when she got back.  
“It’s not a werewolf, Mulder,” she told her own reflection in the mirror, because they were so close to Browning. But maybe it was time to admit she was the one she was trying to convince. With all she had seen the past four years, maybe a werewolf wasn’t as impossible as she had once thought. She pushed the thoughts from her tired mind and made her way to the lone bed in her room.  
It was eight p.m. and she was contemplating sleep, sitting on the edge of the mattress thinking how easy it would be to just slip under the comforter, when the knock sounded at their connecting door. Three quick raps of his knuckles against the wood. She thought if they were anyone else there would be a sex joke in there somewhere. Maybe that was the joke.

“It’s open,” she called to him. When it didn’t open straight away, Scully began to push herself off the bed. She was halfway to her feet when the door opened and Mulder poked his head in.

“You okay, Mulder?” she asked, lowering herself back to sit on the edge of the bed. She was so tired after a day of labs and research that she couldn’t bear the thought of being on her feet a second longer.

He eyed her for a moment, taking in her appearance, but apparently she must have still looked somewhat awake, despite not feeling it, because he said, “Get dressed.”

Scully sighed. “What now?”

“We gotta go to Polebridge and see a man about a dog.” He shrugged, almost apologetic but not quite. “Get dressed.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I’ll meet you in the car,” he said in response, and then left the room, closing the door behind him.

She sat on the bed for a moment, wondering if she should just lock the door and crawl into bed. But he would take the refusal to follow him personally, and then they’d fight, or be cold to one another the rest of the investigation, and she didn’t have the energy for that anymore. Summoning patience, she dressed quickly and met him at the car. If he was going to go, then she would be his backup.

“Look,” he said as he eased the car onto the small, quiet road, “you don’t have to do anything but sit and listen, but I want you here tonight.”

He was sorry, she could hear it in his voice, saw it in his eyes in the brief moment he made eye-contact with her. “How far’s the drive?”

They pulled out of Apgar and he shrugged. “Thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes, a quick conversation with whomever they were meeting, another thirty minutes, then home. She could be in bed by ten, perhaps earlier. She could do this.

But thirty minutes, she realized, was a terrible estimate. Not far out of Apgar the sealed road became loose gravel, barely two lanes, and winded through the mountains. Mulder slowed his speed, navigating with skilled caution towards Polebridge, still the drive was farther than he had estimated. It was a good hour before they pulled up to the small parking lot outside a general store and small bar.

“I think I was given some bad information.”

Scully fixed him with a hard look. “Maybe thirty minutes for the locals who drive it every day.”

It was nine o’clock already and the bar was quiet. Just a handful of Montanans drinking beneath the stars. Scully followed Mulder as he searched for the man he was meeting. When an older man with wild white hair waved them down, the urge to roll her eyes was barely suppressed. She should have guessed they’d be here to see the most eccentric local.

“Mister Mulder?” the man began, and then shook his head and tried again. “Sorry, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder nodded and held out his hand. “You’re Jason Coombs?”

“Sure am. Friends call me Fox.”

Mulder’s hand stilled mid-shake. “Sorry? Excuse me?”

Scully covered her smile with her hand.

“My friends call me Fox. You can too,” he explained.

“Right,” Mulder said, releasing his hand and giving a quick nod. “Well, my friends call me Mulder.” He nodded to Scully. “This is my partner, Agent Scully.”

“Good to meet you both.” He directed them to a wooden picnic table and drew the attention of the server with a wave of his hand. “So, you both here to find the thing that’s eating everyone?”

Scully bit back the need to correct him that no one had actually been eaten. Yet.

“I hear you have some experience with it?” Mulder asked.

“Sure do.” The server stepped up and he paused for a moment. “Agent Scully, you ever had huckleberry wine?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Three,” he said to the server, before turning his attention back to the agents despite both their protests, which were ignored. “I had a dog,” he began, diving into his story. “Big, solid, brute of a thing. Loyal to a fault. We were out on the lake, well, near the lake, just walking through the woods toward home. My family have a cabin out there, you see,” he told them. “You can’t buy those cabins now. They get passed down through families and when there’s no one else to hand it down to it goes to the park. Well my old place is still there, but I don’t live there anymore. You won’t get me near that lake again.”

He paused as the three glasses of wine were placed on the table.

“What happened?” Mulder asked, glancing down at his glass but not touching it.

“Whatever that thing is in the lake? It ate my dog. Just grabbed the old boy and dragged him into the water. Never saw him again. Dunno what took him but it was big. That old boy was a solid animal. But one second he was there, the next gone. Just. Gone.”

It was Big Blue all over again. Suddenly pissed at Mulder, Scully stood and excused herself. She strode towards the building that housed the bathrooms and locked herself in the small stall, exhausted and fuming. She stood in front of the sink for a moment, before turning the tap on and splashing cold water on her face. _Goddamn it, Mulder. Thank you for that unwanted stroll down memory lane to Hell._ She stayed in there, a good fifteen minutes, collecting herself, not wanting to go back. When a knock sounded at the door, she relented, pulling it open, expecting to see Mulder, but finding a woman in need of the facilities instead.

Exiting the washroom, Scully made her way back over to where Mulder sat, alone now, and drank half her glass of wine in three gulps.

“I’m sorry.”

Scully wiped her mouth and scowled. “You knew when you dragged me out here I was going to have to listen to a story about some guy’s dog being eaten beside a lake. Thank you, so much, Mulder.”

“I needed you hear it too. I needed your insight on what might have done it.”

“Well I have none.” She finished the glass and reached for Mulder’s untouched one.

“It’s big enough to drag a sizeable dog into the water.”

She relented, only because she knew it could prove important, even though the man had likely been drunk and maybe his dog had just slipped down a slope into the water. “I found bite marks on the victim today.”

Mulder blinked. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I was going to update you over breakfast tomorrow.” Because it was such an appropriate topic to have over a meal.

“Scully—” he began but she interrupted him.

“Mulder, I was exhausted, and waiting until morning wasn’t going to change anything.”

He watched her in silence, and then beckoned their server over. When he ordered a basket of fries, Scully raised an eyebrow. “You just knocked back a glass of wine in five sips, and you’re on to your second. Just making sure you’ve got some food in you too.” He filled two glasses of water from the pitcher on the table and placed one in front of her. “Just being a responsible partner.”

“By dragging me out here to hear about a dog being killed.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Are you really, though, Mulder?”

“Hey, Scully,” he said, ignoring her tone. “Look up. Look where you are. It’s beautiful out here. Let’s just enjoy the moment.”

“You came all the way out here for information you could have collected over the phone.”

“No, actually I came out here for these.” He pulled a handful of photographs off his lap and placed them on the table. “Our friend Fox,” he said, flashing her a wry smile at the name, “went back the next day and snapped some photos of prints in the mud. He’d been hoping mostly to find his dog, but at least photos might prove he wasn’t crazy.”

She didn’t look at them. “Do they prove that?”

“I mean, it’s hard to see in this light, or lack of,” he admitted. “They could just be bear prints.”

Scully sighed and pulled the photos towards her. “I’ll take a look in the morning.” It was looking more and more like a bear. The bite marks the lab was still trying to match, the hair that had been recovered from all victims, plus the paw prints she couldn’t actually make out in the dim light, were all slowly pointing to animal. Not paranormal. Not an X-File. If this was her last night in Montana, she may as well enjoy it a little.

“I appreciate it.”

“Yeah.” The alcohol was starting to affect her now. She welcomed the basket of fries when it came, but still ate them slowly, just a handful in total.

Mulder picked at the fries, instead of inhaling them as he might usually do, trying to leave the majority of them for her. She was less likely to finish them than he was. It was a joint attempt at slowly eating one fry at a time. Earlier in the evening she might have been inclined to eat them faster just to put an end to this day and go home again. But he was right, at the quiet bar beneath the clear Montana sky, it was beautiful. Peaceful. With a glass and a half of alcohol in her veins, she didn’t mind it so much. Her exhaustion felt muted, pushed down beneath the buzz of the sweet huckleberry wine.

“You ready to head back?”

Scully blinked and shifted her gaze, away from the brilliant night sky, to meet Mulder’s inquisitive eyes. “Five more minutes?”

He flashed her a smile. “We don’t get moments like this very often.”

“No, we don’t,” she agreed, returning his smile.

* * *

Her mood had improved through the evening and the drive back to Apgar. Mulder hadn’t needed her to follow him to the bar, but he had wanted her there. He regretted it at times, how he dragged her along to places she might not want to be, how he ditched her all too often. The things he kept from her, thinking he was protecting her, when the eventual truth only hurt more knowing he had held on to it so long.

He raked a hand through his short hair and sighed, like all his regret might leave his body on the exhale. Passing by the TV, he flipped it on, and then collapsed back on the bed. The soft sounds emitted from the TV alerted him to exactly what channel the last guest had left it on. The sounds were enough to move him to sit up on the bed until his back connected with the headboard. On screen, a slim redhead sat on her knees, completely bare of clothing, while a well-endowed man slid his long, hard length between her fake breasts. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but it was unscrambled porn, and that was something that never happened, so how could he refuse such a gift. His pants were unbuckled, shuffled down past his hips, and he eased his own growing erection out of his boxers. In his mind, he was sliding his cock between Scully’s breasts, and he figured he could hate himself for it later.

* * *

She wasn’t angry anymore. Not really tired either. It was the alcohol, but maybe she had needed it. God, how long had it been since she’d had a drink, or two. How long since she ate greasy fries without feeling sick. Not since before starting chemo, that much she knew. Maybe she didn’t appreciate listening to the story of a lost dog, when she had lost her own in a similar way not all that long ago, but the quiet bar, the drinks, the food, the night sky, the company, had all been nice. Maybe even something she had needed.  
Settling in her bed, noting it was after midnight now, she would be denying him any start in the morning before 9 a.m. Mulder could wait.

Speaking of Mulder, she could hear him in the next room. It took her buzzed brain a moment to recognize the sounds for what they were. The rustling of sheets, the squeaking of the old bed springs, skin against skin and soft grunts.  
Knowing he was masturbating just beyond the thin wall didn’t bother her. Holding her breath, keeping still so not to create noise and further mute his own sounds, she listened to the low, breathy gasps as he stoked himself in the room next to hers. She knew he did it. Just as he likely knew she did it. _Everybody masturbates_ , she thought to herself wryly. _But no one talks about it_. He sounded alive, and that in turn made her own fingers twitch. Just mere weeks ago she had had to pretend him dead, had spoken of his suicide as though it had been a real thing. There had been moments she had felt it so keenly it had knocked what little air she could suck into her struggling lungs straight back out of her. The words had left her lips and she had felt every single one of them. She hadn’t lost him, but in the meeting with Blevins there had been a moment when she believed she had. They were nearing their fifth year as colleagues, and at least four of those as friends. Hearing him now, grunting softly, the sounds of exertion as he brought himself closer to release, she let her mind wander to the imagined sensations of him. How he would feel inside of her. 

There had been moments, in their first year together, when she had almost hoped they would leave propriety out in the motel parking lot and open that connecting door. Their first case, when Mulder had checked her back for marks by candlelight. The spark between them had sizzled in the air, making up for any lack of electricity that evening. Another case, in Alaska, when fear and isolation had tried to push them apart. When she could have so easily knocked on his door that first night, and he would have let her inside without a word. And they mightn’t have felt so alone in the arctic. And later, during their second run-in with Eugene Victor Tooms. After a particularly honest conversation in a car. But any simmering background sexual tension had been dutifully ignored for the sake of their growing friendship. A conversation they never had. Not even Eddie Van Blundht could coax that discussion out of them. Maybe it was both of their recent near-death encounters, hers real, his almost too real for her, or maybe it was the sweet huckleberry wine buzzing through her, but she wanted her own release tonight, and she wanted it with his.

Her fingertips grazed the waistline of her panties and then dipped between the soft cotton and her skin. There was a hesitance, a fleeting thought of whether she should be doing this. Her fingers danced, just above her own skin, so close to making contact with the light throb of arousal that built the more she listened, the more she pictured him. Them. Together.  
She wanted to feel alive too.

There was a crackling in the air, like the friction from their separate nocturnal activities coming together. Joining. Sparking. She could hear him, his bed almost an extension of her own, and were it not for the headboard, the wall between them, they could almost be touching. She reached one hand back, pushed against it with her palm, imagined him doing the same. Her other hand teased still, a hesitation because once she touched herself it was real. She would actually be doing this. Easing her hand back out of her panties, she ran a finger along the elastic, and then dropped her hand to the crotch she knew was already saturated. Screw it. She needed this.  
Scully teased her clit through the cotton and it slid easily over the slick material. Her finger glided with a practiced ease. A shudder ran though her, her body so thrumming with need now just a soft touch threatened to undo her. Sliding her finger to the side, she hooked it around the material, tugged the crotch of the panties to the side, let go of the wall and dropped that hand down to circle her clit. Her hips rose off the mattress at the first touch of skin on skin.

Mulder released a low grunt behind her. Her own audible gasp followed. Her body shuddered from her touch, her hips rotating with each circle of her finger on and around her clit. Cancer had stolen her libido. For so long during her illness she’d had no interest in sex. And, God, she had been so dry. How she had missed the warm gush of arousal seeping through her panties. This natural biological response to stimulation made her feel herself again, made her feel healthy again. She might still be bouncing back, but no longer did it feel like she was dying. She needed this. She’d been so starved of this kind of pleasure it didn’t take long for her orgasm to build. Just the tip of her finger on her clit, circling with tighter rotations, her hips simulating meeting Mulder thrust for thrust. The tingle built and she tried to stay quiet through it, to hear only him as his own orgasm approached. He grunted low and long, an almost strangled sound, but it was pure pleasure, and knowing he was shooting hot and hard into his own hand undid her. Her hand worked faster, her hips rose off the bed, and normally – pre-cancer – she would be pushing two long fingers inside herself now, curling them at just the right spot, and rubbing until she came. But she didn’t need that now. Her body stilled as she peaked, and her hips returned to the mattress, her body throbbed from release. It had been a while since she’d had a clitoral orgasm, and while she missed the feeling of being full, she had just needed to come.

She fell asleep soon after, sated and relaxed, too tired to clean herself up, wondering if his room smelled as strong of sex as hers did, wondering if he had heard the squeak of her bedsprings and her low moans as clearly as she had heard his.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a bounce in Mulder’s step when he met her for breakfast.

“You seem happier today,” he said, noticing the change in her own mood.

“I got some things out of my system last night.”

He paused and fell a step behind her. It sounded more than mildly suggestive, which had been more than slightly intentional. She would let him ponder that, let him wonder if she’d heard him.

 _I did, Mulder. I did_ , she thought as she walked. Pity he couldn’t read minds.

Then he got brave. He caught up with her, threw an, “I did too,” at her as he fell into step beside her, and then lengthened his stride and walked ahead.

All she could do was cock an eyebrow and smile at his back. They were playing a dangerous game, and it was one they didn’t really have a lot of practice at. Not with each other, anyway. They rarely pushed the sexual innuendos that far. She was feeling feisty. This case might be the one where she found out just how much he could take before he had no retort, shocked into silence.

Following him into the restaurant, they sat opposite one another and ordered coffee and eggs. She needed a protein hit and he seemed content to just order whatever she was having.

Like how she had felt last night.

* * *

“Results on the animal hair should be back by lunch.”

Mulder looked at her over the rim of his bitter coffee. “Initial thoughts?”

Scully pursed her lips for a moment. “Deer.” When he merely nodded, she added, “You don’t seem surprised?”

“I’m not.”  
  
“I would have thought you’d be expecting bear, or at least moose. Something significantly larger, big enough to go up against a dog.”

“You got those photos, Scully?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Yes.” She pulled the file folder out of her bag and placed it on the table between them.

“Have you looked at them?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” she said, exhaustion in her voice, because she knew where this was headed. The monster dragged a bear into the lake and—

“Bigfoot.”

That threw her. She met his eyes and the grin on his face was not a teasing one, but his ‘oh my God this is happening,’ grin of delight. No. No this was most definitely not happening. “I’m sorry, Mulder. Did you say Bigfoot?” She blinked a few times in rapid succession, like that might somehow clear her addled mind. “I thought we were hunting Big Blue’s cousin.” Not that she believed for a second it was a lake monster, but Bigfoot? Really?

“Did you know the FBI has a classified file on Bigfoot?” he asked.

“I did not,” Scully replied.

Mulder sipped his coffee, slowly, letting that first piece of information sink in. “Since the seventies. 1976, to be exact. The FBI investigated Bigfoot. It’s an X-File even I can’t get access to.”

“I’m surprised the Lone Gunman haven’t found a way to hack that.”

“Give them time,” Mulder said, a small smile playing on his lips. “Anyway, there is some information I have been able to get access to, thanks to a man named Jay Cochran Jr, who, in his seventies, I suppose figured he had nothing to lose by the time I got in touch with him. He obtained some hair from a Peter Byrne, who had sent to the FBI to have it tested, believing it was from Bigfoot. Cochran determined it be of ‘deer family origin’.”

“So, Byrne sent deer hair off to be tested, and it came back as exactly that.”

Mulder shook his head. “If it were that simple, would the file still be classified?”

“So, you think, what? Deer and Bigfoot share DNA so similar even labs can’t differentiate between them? Because, Mulder, really---"

“I think the things some people are suggesting deer have done seem awfully out of character for the animal.” He pinned her with a look. “The hair you tested was definitely deer?”

Scully sighed. “It’s undergoing further testing.”

“Because it seems like it should be deer but isn’t exactly ticking all the boxes?”

“Initial tests were inconclusive,” was all she said in reply.

“Hmmm,” he mused. “Interesting. Don’t you think?”

“It’s not Bigfoot, Mulder.”

“A bear-deer hybrid then?”

He was messing with her, she knew. But she just shrugged in response, used to him by now to know there was no point throwing rational scientific explanations at him until the lab results come back. At least. Even then, he would be the last to accept anything other than Bigfoot. She could see it in his eyes, he was already so excited by the prospect of finding proof. She knew he went “squatchin’” in his free time, even if he had never admitted it to her out loud. Almost five years at his side? Yeah, she knew him better than he thought she did. “You must have more than this, Mulder. To have considered it an X-File in the first place?”

He eyed her in silence for a moment, like he was considering how much should he tell her. "Big Blue part two?”

Scully sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not buying that.”

Nodding in acceptance, he put his coffee cup down, and finally filled in some blanks for her.  
“I explored British Columbia, in the early eighties, the summer before I graduated college. I was around twenty-two at the time, home from England for a few months, before I knew the X-Files existed, but about a decade after losing Samantha. I was camping on the banks of the mighty Mogoagogo River.” A look of wistful nostalgia shone in his bright eyes. “In the morning, after strange noises had kept me awake most of the night, I exited my tent and almost stepped right into it. A large footprint in the mud. Not human. But not bear either. I wasn’t far from Kamloops. Took my car back to town, purchased some supplies, and made a mold of the foot.” He flashed her a grin. “Remind me to show it to you sometime.”

“Yes, please, Mulder, show me your foot,” she said, her tone drier than the toast sitting untouched on her plate.

“Since then, I’ll admit to having set out on a few research missions.”

“Call it what it is, Mulder,” she dared him.

“Fine, Scully. You want me to say it? I’ve been squatchin’.”

“You find anything, besides your footprint?”

“Nothing until the hair, a few years later, right before I graduated from Quantico. Hair that seemed to be deer, but even the guys in the zoology department at three nearby universities couldn’t identify it. ‘Deer hair, most likely’ they said.”

“Most likely, but not one hundred percent.”

“Exactly.”

“And why you took this case?”

Mulder smiled. He pulled a file out and placed it in front of her.

“An old X-File?” she asked, eyeing it but not reaching for it.

“Ten years ago, a tourist disappeared down by the lake. Body never washed up.”

“Which is not uncommon,” she told him. “A lake that cold tends to keep bodies on the bottom.” It made sense then. “Which is also why you never suspected a lake monster. You knew the lake doesn’t give up its victims.”

“Body never washed up,” he repeated, nodding along to what she’d just said. “Might not have even ended up in the water. There was some hair near where the victim was last seen that couldn’t be identified. Best guess was deer.”

She glanced down at the file again and opened it this time. Her eyes skimmed the pages. “Strange prints in the mud too big for bear,” she read out loud. “Mulder, did you really bring me squatchin’?”

He grinned.

She sighed.

And the server, who’d just overheard more than she ever wanted to, quickly disappeared to get their bill.

* * *

Scully stayed a couple of steps behind him as he walked the shoreline. It was a big lake. “How far you going, Mulder?” she called to him.

He stopped then, like he had just realized they were long past the area the deaths occurred. His eyes had been downcast, scanning the ground for prints, hair, anything interesting. He hadn’t been keeping track of how far they had walked. It wasn’t too far, he surmised, looking back towards where they had started from. Maybe a mile. Tops. “This far,” he replied, his tone sheepish.

“There’s nothing more out here, Mulder. Let’s head back.”

“Yeah,” he said, but it was dismissive, because his eyes had just spotted something down by the water’s edge. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. He turned away from Scully and strode down to the imprint in the stony shore. He heard Scully’s sigh as he walked away. She was tired, he knew. She grew tired more easily these days. She tried to hide it from him, the fatigue that crept up on her, but he saw her limbs grow heavier as the days progressed. Even if she denied it. She was fine, she swore to him, like a broken record. She wasn’t. And he forgot sometimes. This was their first case back, and he was so easily caught up in the thrill of the hunt he forgot, for a second, that she had almost died, that he’d almost lost her, and he’d walked a mile in selfish shoes. In that moment, he hated himself. It threw him off balance, this sudden realization of what a jackass he was being. Unsteady, he moved to swivel, to turn back to her, to tell her they could head back, when his foot slipped on the wet rock and he fell backwards into the icy lake water.

It wasn’t deep at the shoreline and his back hit the bottom. The cold knocked the air right out of his lungs, and for a moment he was frozen in the water, body shocked from the impact. By the time he had recovered enough to suck in a breath he was lucky his head was above water. It had all almost been so much worse. Scully’s hand wrapped around his and she helped him up, out of the water, back to dry land.

“Jesus, Mulder,” she breathed out, helping him sit on the stones, fingers checking the back of his head at the same time for injury, multi-tasking like she was so used to with him. “Are you okay?”

Catching his breath as he sat, head in his hands, a long shiver ripped through his body. “I think you’re right,” he said between big gulps of air. “I think it’s time to head back.”

She sat next to him, giving him the time he needed to suck long gulps of air back into his shocked lungs. Her shoulder pressed to his; she shared some of her warmth. It was a warm day and the sun was beating down, but it had its work cut out for it against the cold of the glacial Lake McDonald.

* * *

Scully helped Mulder into his motel room. The walk back had defrosted him, but he was still feeling the cold right down to his bones.

“What did you see by the lake?” she asked as she directed him to sit on his bed.

“A mirage,” he replied. “Thought I saw a footprint.”

Scully disappeared into his bathroom and came back with a large, fluffy towel. She wrapped it carefully around his shoulders, adjusting it until he was cocooned in the terry cloth.

His eyes caught hers and he nodded. “Thank you.”

“Can’t take you anywhere,” she murmured with affection. Sitting at his side, there was a moment of companionable silence between them. She broke it with, “Take you squatchin’ and Big Blue tries to eat you. This would only happen to us, Mulder.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” he snarked.

Instead of matching his tone, hers turned serious, more somber. “You ever get tired of these close calls, Mulder?”

“I fell in a lake, Scully. It’s embarrassing, but it’s hardly a close call.”

“You know what I mean,” she huffed out. “Our lives, in general.”

His own mood shifted then. “How are you feeling, Scully? I mean really, and don’t say you’re fine.”

“Tired.”

“Of me? Of this thing we do?”

 _Not everything is about you, Mulder_ , she thought, the words, spoken not all that long ago, swirling around in her mind now. “No,” she replied, her tone firm. “I’m tired of feeling tired. From treatment.” She looked over at him, not wanting to discuss it. Ready to stop thinking about cancer and all related things. “You have to get out of those wet clothes, Mulder.”

“Are you propositioning me?”

“I just don’t want you to die from your own clumsiness.”

“I knew you cared.”

“Mulder,” she said, her tone laced with frustration. “Get changed.” She moved to stand but his hand dropped to her arm, anchoring her to the bed. “What?”

“Stay?” he asked, almost pleaded. “I’ll just be a minute.”

He pushed off the bed, grabbed a change of clothes from his bag, and disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t close the door, but she couldn’t see him from this angle. She gazed back at the bed while he changed, her brain reminding her of what he had been doing in it last night. The bed had been made, by him because he never allowed housekeeping in while they were working a case. It was tidy, but she knew what a blacklight would show. Her own bed wouldn’t be much better. Maybe he knew. Maybe he had heard her. And maybe she didn’t care if he had. This thing they had now, it was stronger than friendship. A deep affection that toed the line between something platonic, and something decidedly more. She still felt the phantom touch of his fingers brushing her hair behind her ears while she lay in hospital. Still remembered the smell of him as he leaned in and swept his lips across her cheek. She was so goddamn sick of almost dying, of almost losing him. Tears slipped quietly down her cheeks, and she swiped almost angrily at the pent up frustration she had lost control over.

“Hey,” Mulder’s voice said quietly.

She turned to find him beside her, wondering when he had sneaked up on her. He sat at her side, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and pulled her in for a sideways hug.

His cheek dropped to the top of her head. “I’m sorry if I scared you when I fell in the lake.”

Was that why she was crying? She allowed him to hold her for a moment, not even a minute, before she pulled away. “I think everything’s finally catching up with me,” she admitted, out of his arms now, on her feet, her back to him.

“I think we’re both angry at the injustice of it all. Both scared.”

Scully nodded. “I tried to get through it with courage and strength,” she said, finding it easier to talk with him behind her, not having to see his eyes. “My cancer, pretending you had killed yourself, remission. Everything. I tried. And I did. But now…”

“Now, you need to take some time and let it all out.”

“It’s not something I’ve had a lot of practice doing.”

“Rest, Scully,” he said, his hand at the small of her back, his presence beside her now. He guided her to their adjoining door. “Lab results won’t be back for at least another hour, correct?”

She nodded.

“So have a nap, a shower, read a book, whatever. Decompress for a bit.”

The undefined ‘whatever’ sounded really good to her then.

* * *

She dreamed of him. It was a strange dream, more senseless than most. Mulder beneath her, her partner face down on the bed, naked and writhing. Toned muscles rippled beneath his skin as he moved against her. Situated between his spread legs, a position she had never been in before, her pelvis hit the cheeks of his ass with practiced rhythm. It felt good. Her body tingled, spreading heat through her entire body from her center out. Her clit throbbed. She sat up a little more, on her knees, and pushed into him with long, hard, slow thrusts. In this slightly raised position, she could see the strap-on, something even in her dream she knew she had never used before. Each thrust, each cry of pleasures that left his lips, muffled by the pillow, stimulated her clit. She desperately wanted him inside her, but she could come from this alone right now. And it felt so damn good to be in control. His hips raised up and she slipped a hand around, wrapping her fingers around his hard, thick cock. She stroked him in time with her thrusts, squeezing with the right amount of pressure, like he was inside her and her muscles were fluttering around him. He came quickly, and hard, coating her hand and the bedspread. His orgasm triggered her own. She cried out and folded her body over his, still moving inside him, smaller, messy thrusts now, the ripples of her orgasm flowing through them both.

Scully awoke to her body shuddering from the force of her wet dream. She almost laughed. It was ridiculous. It also felt incredibly good. Her muscles twitched and she slowly came back to awareness, her underwear damp despite her fingers never having travelled down between her legs.

The dream itself was fresh in her mind. Images of her pegging her partner hinting at a possible second orgasm if she just reached down and touched herself. She rubbed a hand over her eyes instead. For a moment earlier, in his presence, she had given up control and let the tears fall. It seemed her subconscious had very quickly taken that control back.

* * *

After freshening up, and calling the lab, she knocked on Mulder’s door. It opened instantly, like he’d been waiting on the other side. Listening, too, perhaps? Had her orgasm been as silent as she had thought? Had the cries she heard clearly in her ears actually left her own sleep-slackened lips?

“Feeling better?” he asked.

She couldn’t decide how to interpret what was likely an innocent question. Did he know she came so hard she swore her muscles were still twitching. “Much. Thank you.” She flashed him a small smile. “I have the results from your Bigfoot hair.”

“Deer?” He opened the door wider for her to enter.

She nodded but didn’t move to cross the threshold. “Deer.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t Bigfoot,” he quipped.

“Some days, Mulder, I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“Right now, I’m not completely sure myself.”

“I know you want it to be Bigfoot. But I think it’s a combination of a dangerous lake, bear season, and a whole lot of coincidences.”

He entered her room when she still made no move to enter his. Stepping around her, he walked to the small chair in the corner of her room and sat down. She kept the door open but turned to face him, crossing her arms in front of her chest and staring him down.

“And the hair?”

“There’s a whole lot of deer out there, Mulder.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he conceded. “One more night, then? Just to be sure.”

It was two in the afternoon. Their evidence was still limited at best, with nothing pointing to murder. Park deaths, likely wildlife related, just not the kind of wildlife Mulder was hoping for. With Glacier’s airport being so small the chances of flying out tonight were almost non-existent. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and Sasquatch will visit tonight.”

“But only in my dreams, right?”

The heat rose in her face. Had she cried out Mulder’s name when she’d come earlier? Screw it, she thought, unsure if she was playing along with his game, or just making an innocent comment decidedly less innocent. “Maybe reality too, if you’re really lucky.”

The smirk playing on his lips screamed that he knew. “I hope I get lucky then,” he replied, pushed himself out of the chair, and strode back to his own room. He pulled the door closed gently, too gently. It didn’t quite latch close. It felt intentional. It felt like an invitation.

She wanted to feel alive.

She could push against the door and it would open so easily. Was that his hope? That she would follow?

“Mulder?” She said his name louder than necessary, so she was sure he heard her from the next room. He did.

The door opened and he stood before her, somewhere between his room and hers. Caught in the middle of something, like their relationship currently was. He leaned against the wood, gazing at her, but remaining silent. It was her move.

She chickened out. “Want to go Bigfoot hunting?”

“Is that a euphemism?”

She still wasn’t brave enough. “Tonight? Want to go see if we find deer, bear, or something else?”

A brief flash of disappointment darkened his features. “Sure,” he replied. “What if we find something else?”

“Then maybe you’ll make a believer out of me yet.”

He grinned. “Six? We’ll go grab some dinner and then head off after?”

“It’s a date,” she replied.

His grin faltered, because he couldn’t tell if she was messing with him or not, and he wasn’t brave enough either. “See you at six, Scully.” He closed the door with a soft click.

She just wanted to feel _something_.


	5. Chapter 5

They met at Eddie’s at six. Mulder was already at a table near the back of the restaurant, menu in his hands, but he looked up when she approached. “Feels like a burger and fries kind of night,” he said by way of greeting.

Scully sat opposite him and nodded in agreement. “And a shake.”

“Wow, going all out tonight, Scully.”

She sobered. “It’s probably been obvious I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, but I’m finally starting to feel like myself again.”

“It’s been obvious, but only to me.”

“Four years together, Mulder. I expected you knew me that well by now.”

“I do.”

They ordered their meals, plus her shake and a soda for him, and sat in a companionable silence while they waited. Her gaze flittered out the window to the families enjoying the lake on this summer’s evening, and she felt a pang of jealousy. A memory of a moment in Home, Pennsylvania, on a bench after a particularly heartbreaking examination of remains. It was the first time in a long time that she had allowed herself to consider a future that included a child, a husband. Then cancer had happened, and the seemingly happy families at the water’s edge only reminded her of what chemo may have stolen from her. Sometimes there was a pang of wistful hope, because she was a scientist, a doctor, and she knew there were always other options out there. Options to consider. And she would start considering them soon.

“Looking for Bigfoot?” he asked.

He knew exactly what she was looking at but she laughed lightly and shrugged. “Bears, deer, something.”

“Something,” he agreed softly.

The food was placed in front of them. Scully ate her burger slowly and managed to get through the entire thing, her shake, and a handful of fries. It had been a while since she’d put away so much food in one sitting and she felt wonderfully full of grease and animal fat. It was a good thing they’d be wandering the forest tonight. She might need to walk this off.

They chatted amicably during dinner, but not once did Mulder comment on how much she ate. He politely ignored it, telling her more about his Bigfoot encounter at the Mogoapogo River, and his many return visits over the years. He finished his story as she swallowed the last of her shake.

“I’m going to need a few minutes before we head off,” she admitted. “That was a lot of food.”

“I’m in no rush, Scully,” he said, smiling warmly at her.

“So, Mulder, what’s your money on?” she asked. “Bears, deer, or…?”

“Or,” he replied, the smile on his lips more cryptic now. “Definitely the or.”

She didn’t know how to interpret that.

* * *

It was close to eight in the evening by the time they set out and he was happy to take it all at a leisurely pace. It might have only been early summer but it was warm, and it wouldn’t get dark until closer to nine. He figured they have at least a good hour of daylight. Once they started losing light they could head back. He wasn’t expecting to find anything more. Scully was probably right, although he wouldn’t say that out loud just yet. Nothing was pointing solidly to Bigfoot. Even the photos looked more like a bear’s paw than anything simian. He had bear spray, and a gun if it came to that, so he wasn’t too concerned about running into a hungry grizzly. And he had Scully, who was arguably a better shot than he was. According to her. He hadn’t disagreed that day. In case she’d decided to prove it. And she had already shot him once before.

Mulder glanced over at Scully, her eyes fixed on the mountains beyond the lake. Glacier National Park was truly spectacular. Scully was too. He smiled wistfully, knowing she wouldn’t see it. He had dreamed about her last night. In it, she had been angry with him for believing in Bigfoot and not listening to her science. Her anger had bubbled over until she’d slammed him back against the motel wall and stolen his breath with a searing kiss. Her way of stealing the air from his lungs had been much more pleasurable than the cold lake water. He had flipped their positions in the dream, demanding control, until he had her pressed to the wall, a leg nudging her thighs apart, spurred on by her own anger. Fury turned to fucking so much faster in dreams than real life.

Not that he wanted to fuck her. Perhaps early in their partnership, but not now. The word was too harsh, too obscene for what she deserved. He envisioned, if it ever happened, it would be in his bed, or hers, after a strange case, and maybe after a beer or two. Slow. Gentle. Because he had fallen in love with her.

“You okay, Mulder?”

She was staring at him. And he blinked himself back to reality. “Yeah.”

“You zoned out.”

“Thinking about Bigfoot,” he lied.

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

He almost laughed at that. “Too late.”

“About fifteen years too late?”

“Something like that.”

The sun was sinking low in the Glacier sky, a sky determined to color match with his partner’s auburn hair. “You’re blending into the sky there, Scully.” The words came out much more affectionate than he’d intended.

Scully stopped and looked up at the colors sweeping through the sky, taking it in. Mulder paused at her side and followed her eyes. Nudging him gently with her elbow, she asked, “Do you find yourself appreciating the little things more after your supposed death?”

How could he even begin to answer that when her own experience with death had almost been too real. “I’m sorry you had to lie about that.” He considered it a bit more and corrected himself. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”

“You did nothing, Mulder. It was just bad timing.”

He chuckled darkly. “Story of our partnership.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“You really wouldn’t change anything? Still?”

“Not a day,” she affirmed.

The sky quickly shifted from red hues to a darker purple. They stood side-by-side, watching the colors change, bears and deer forgotten.

“I would change a lot,” he admitted. “You would never have been taken. Never would have lost your sister. I never would have allowed you to have to worry about cancer a day in your life.” He paused, swallowed down the rising emotion, the bile as it crept up into his throat and burned. “I would have been a better partner too, right from the start.”

“Mulder,” she began, breathing out his name. “You have been, are, the best partner I have ever had. I wouldn’t want you any other way. When I say I wouldn’t change a day, that goes for you too.” A bright smile lit up her face. “You’re absolutely crazy, your ideas are wild, you ditch me, you never say goodbye when you end a phonecall, you do everything I tell you not to do, and I adore you.”

He gazed down at her in reverence. “You adore me?”

Determination flared in her eyes and she was clearly not taking those words back. “I do.”

“Well, I guess, if we’re being honest, I think you’re okay too.”

A soft laugh bubbled out of her. “Oh, Mulder.”

“I just…” He hesitated. “I thought for sure I was going to lose you.”

She sighed. “You almost did. But then you saved me.”

There was a sadness in the air, settling upon them and wrapping around them now, a shroud of woven worry and despair. With remission should have come relief, but all he felt was guilt, and all she felt was a lingering fear, a dark cloud above her, that whatever had brought about her remission would stop working just as suddenly as it had started. No matter how hard she tried to shake it, the hints of sadness remained. In her. In him.

“Shit,” Mulder muttered.

It was a strange response to her words, strange enough to make her stop in her tracks and look back at him. “Mulder?”

He was looking down, at his feet, and something dark on the trail.

“You okay?”

“Shit, Scully.” He met her eyes and then pointed at the ground. “Bear scat.”

“Oh, you meant literal shit.”

“Grizzly, I think.”

“You can tell?” Scully stepped over to where he stood wiping his foot off on the ground, a large pile of animal droppings in front of him with a Mulder-sized shoe print in it.

“Just guessing.” Satisfied he had most of it off his shoe, he crouched down and studied the scat closer. “It’s a big pile of crap.”

“Looks fresh too,” Scully said, getting a closer look at it herself. She glanced around. Her hand felt for her gun; the bear spray dangled from her belt. “I think we might have to tell the local sheriff his killer is a grizzly.” The way he was studying the scat, and his silence, made her realize—“Oh my God, Mulder. You actually think it’s Bigfoot droppings, don’t you?”

“I said no such thing.”

“Out loud.” She couldn’t do this anymore. Not tonight. “Think about this rationally, Mulder. Glacier National Park? All these people? And anyway, you told me once Washington was Bigfoot country.”

“Washington, Oregon, Montana,” he replied, listing off the states. “California too.”

“But Glacier?” Scully asked. When he didn’t reply, she paused only to breathe and continued, “That poop at your feet is bear scat, the foot prints were likely a human footprint over that of a bear, elongated by the mud, and there are deer everywhere in these woods, Mulder. It wouldn’t be unusual for a person walking out here to rub against a tree and transfer deer hair onto themselves.”

Mulder looked utterly defeated. “We need to stop at the vortex on our way out of here tomorrow, Scully. May as well shatter those illusions for me. You’ll have a field day explaining it all scientifically.”

For a moment she almost felt bad. “Isn’t that why you keep me around, Mulder?”

His mouth opened, his lips beginning to form a come-back, when a blur in the trees ahead stopped whatever he’d been about to say. “Scully,” he hissed. “There.” He pointed to the dark mass of fur behind the trees, several feet ahead and to their right. Despite most of whatever it was being obscured by the green foliage, it was big. Surely bigger than any bear he had ever seen.

Scully was already reaching for both her gun and the bear spray. One in each hand, finger on each trigger, without a hesitation in dexterity. “What is it, Mulder?” she whispered. “Black bear?”

He only shook his head, eyes trained on the creature ahead.

It heard them then, or smelled them, turning and advancing toward them, tree branches snapping, bigger tree limbs groaning in protest, the rustle of leaves like a roar to their ears.  
But they still couldn’t see all of it. The dying light, the thick forest, it couldn’t have been less than a couple of feet away and still it moved like it was invisible.

Scully raised the can of bear spray higher, at muzzle level, and yelled, “Hey bear!”

She heard a “Hey Bigfoot!” from beside her and made a mental note to smile about that later when she wasn’t about to be mauled. The black blur was almost right on top of them. Scully made a quick decision and let loose a long spray of the bear deterrent, knowing Mulder would fire off a round with his weapon if needed. The spray was enough. The animal roared, the foul stench of its breath assaulting the senses of both agents, bear spray threatening to be pushed back by the force of the creature's fury. Both took a long step back, and it was in that moment they both saw it clearly. And it wasn’t a black bear, and it wasn’t a grizzly.

The tall creature turned and ran back into the thick forest. Mulder moved to follow but a quick hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. “Mulder, no,” Scully warned. “We’re losing light and you don’t know this forest. There’s half a can of bear spray in the air you were about to run through. You wouldn’t have made it two feet.”

“Scully,” he said, breathless, awe filling his voice. “That wasn’t a bear.”

She couldn’t argue. But she wasn’t ready to say the word Bigfoot out loud, add it to the possible werewolves nearby. No, those were not things she could admit to seeing yet.

“We’ll tell the ranger once we get back to the village.”

“Tell him what?” Mulder asked, facing her now, his nose so close it was almost bumping hers, his wide eyes still visible in the low light. “Bigfoot ate the tourists?”

She stood straight, defiant. “That a bear charged us and it’s likely the same one responsible for the deaths.”

He laughed then, right in her face, but it wasn’t full of anything but mirth. “One day you’ll say it, Scully.”

And she couldn’t disagree. “One day, Mulder. But not today.”


	6. Chapter 6

Scully hadn’t even hung the phone back up in her motel room when Mulder said, voice filled with pure joy, “Bigfoot, Scully. We saw Bigfoot.” He leaned against the set of drawers the boxy TV sat on, his back to the curved screen.

She sat on the bed opposite and looked up at him. “I know you think you saw Bigfoot,” she said. “What I saw was a well-fed, very upset bear. Possibly a grizzly.”

“You’re still sticking with that story?”

She nodded.

Mulder pursed his lips. “So, what did the ranger say?”

“That a bear removal will likely take place tomorrow.”

“They’re not going to find a bear, Scully.”

“Mulder, Skinner wants us back tomorrow for that team seminar on Thursday. You’re not going squatchin.” When he dropped his gaze in defeat, she added, “But, on the bright side, there’s nothing stopping you coming back. Don’t you have some vacation time accrued?” She flashed him a smile.

“Don’t you think finding Bigfoot would be a more effective team building exercise for the X-Files?”

“Mulder,” she warned, but there was a smile on her lips.

“Fine. You win. This time.” He pushed away from the television and moved to sit beside her on the bed. “What time is our flight?”

“Three in the afternoon.”

“So there’ll be time for a quick drive out to where we were tonight.”

Scully sighed. “You want to look for a footprint to take a mold of, don’t you.” It wasn’t even a question.

He bumped her arm gently with his shoulder and grinned at her profile. “You know me too well.”

A soft laugh left her lips and she dipped her head. “I look at us, Mulder, our four years together, and of all the agents partnered up I wonder how Skinner considered us as the ones in need of a team seminar.”

“Maybe I’ll come away from it able to say goodbye before ending a call.” His voice was softer now, holding more affection.

“I won’t hold my breath.’ Scully dared to look up and found him gazing openly at her.

“You adore me,” he said, his tone lower now, his warm brown eyes watching her with a softness usually reserved for when he thought she was dying.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she murmured.

The grief that had surrounded them in the forest had followed them, past the lake, to their motel. It hung heavy and thick around them in Scully’s room. A shroud of sadness that had begun to build six months ago, that had now found its forever home with them.

She was alive, she was well, and her post-treatment symptoms would soon disappear. Less than an hour ago she had stared down a charging bear and lived to tell the tale. The adrenaline still surged through her, battling with the sadness, winning. In that moment, there was no need for sadness, no place for grief. She was alive. All she wanted was him. For one night. Just one.

He stood, without a word, preparing to go back to his own room, and all she knew was that she couldn’t allow it. Standing, she reached for his hand, curled her fingers with his, and held strong. The touch stopped him in his tracks and he turned to her, a questioning expression on his face.

“I heard you,” she admitted, her voice soft, barely more than a whisper. “Last night, in bed. I heard you say my name.”

A pale flash of guilt drained his face. The loss was fleeting, the color returning just as quick as it had left. Instead of denying it, he found his voice and replied, “I heard you say mine.”

There were a hundred things she wanted to say, wanted to plead. _Take me, Mulder. Fuck me. Make me feel alive._ She would beg if she had to. Just tonight. Her own fingers weren’t going to cut it. But how could she ask him? Her partner, her best friend. How could she find the right words, any even slightly adequate enough, to ask for this. To ask him to screw her senseless as a one-time thing.

She needed it so bad.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, tracking a silent, hot trail through her pressed powder, revealing the pink skin beneath. But these weren’t her radiation burns. Arousal burned through her and despite her tears she lifted her eyes to Mulder and held his, defiant in her silent need.

Bridging the already minimal distance between them with the smallest of steps, Mulder brought his hand to her face, cupping her cheek in his large, warm palm. His eyes met hers. “What do you need?” he asked, his voice hoarse with arousal.

“You.”

“This isn’t us, Scully.”

She shrugged, and her cheek moved against his palm but the connection refused to be severed. “Maybe tonight it is.”

“Just tonight?”

“We’ll figure it out, Mulder.”

His thumb swept against her cheek, a soft thoughtful touch as he considered her words. Her gaze held his, faltering only when the intensity of his eyes became too much. And then he nodded, the smallest of movements, a mere dip of his head, leaned in, and dropped his lips to her exposed neck.

It surprised her, this warm, wet caress. She dropped her head to the side, allowing him a better angle, more skin to nip and suck at as he trailed hot kisses down to her clavicle.

The heat of his lips on her skin was already too much, and it wasn’t enough.

Reaching down between them, Scully’s dexterous fingers found the dome of his jeans and she flicked it open and slid the zipper down in movements so seamless they could have been one. Simultaneous. And as she pushed the denim past his hips, down his thighs, and his tongue traveled between her breasts, the buttons of her shirt being undone almost faster than her own undoing, she knew there would be no time for much foreplay tonight.

God, to have him between her legs, his nose nudging her open, his tongue firm and slippery and hot, dancing over her clit. To straddle his face, her knees on the mattress, his thick, heavy cock between her lips as she sucked him to completion. To come on his face when she swallowed down his semen. The gush of warmth saturating the crotch of her panties told her the thoughts alone would be enough foreplay on this evening. _Next time, next time, next time_. But would there be a next time?

His lips closed around her nipple, her shirt open now, bra undone and loose, and she stopped thinking.

Her slacks joined the puddle of clothing on the floor, resting on his jeans like even their clothing was making love. She stood before him then, nude except for the skin-tone panties with the darkened crotch. With one deft movement he pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, dropping it back over his shoulder. Her fingers reached down for her panties, but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her hip.

“Not yet, Scully,” he rasped.

Guiding her back to the bed, Mulder helped her ease up the mattress until she lay flat on her back. With hands on her calves, he brought her toward him, until her knees hung over the edge. He nudged her legs apart, dropped to his knees, slung her legs over his shoulders, and pressed his open mouth to her center. Pleasure engulfed her, firing hot need through her veins, making her hips twitch in sinful anticipation. He teased her though the thin material, dragging his tongue over the slickness of her own arousal, the tip of his tongue tracing her clit, pressing in where she wanted more of him. She was opened wide to him, the material of her panties barely covering her, and yet he managed to avoid touching his tongue to where she needed him to press inside her, instead circling her clit and teasing at her opening through the cotton.

Her body shuddered against him. There was no stopping her hips from rotating up to meet his mouth, rubbing harder against his tongue.

“Mulder,” she managed to rasp out, breathless. “Need you. Now.”

Not giving her what she so craved just yet, he crooked a finger around the edge of her panties and tugged them to the side. Two long, thick fingers circled her opening, and then pushed inside, filling her so unexpectedly she cried out from the delicious mix of exquisite pleasure and slight pain. With long, slow strokes, he pumped his fingers inside her, and each rub against her inner walls tightened the coil within.

* * *

He needed to taste her. Four years of dreaming about this. He needed his face between her legs and his tongue inside her. He needed her rubbing against his mouth, hips wild, legs so unfettered they shuddered against his shoulders. He was so hard, coiled so tight, he might come from that first push inside her, and she deserved her own release. Or two. His skin burned from his arousal, his body set alight by need. He just wanted to feel her come, to surge against his mouth before she shattered in his arms.

She was like satin and his fingers slid easily in and out, pushing deeper and hitting her harder with each flick of his wrist. He heard her sharp intakes of air, the tiny gasps of pleasure, coming in quick succession now. Her body buzzed around him, resonating in a way he might call an X-File. She was responsive to every slight change in the motion of his fingers, and she let him know in a way more vocal than he'd expected. Well, it was a little expected. He had heard her softly cry out his name through the wall, afterall.  
Curling his fingers, he found the softest spot with her and applied a gentle pressure. His tongue circled her clit as he rotated his fingers and the combination coaxed her to peak. Scully stilled for a moment, and then came against his mouth, shuddering, and boneless, and releasing his name on a long sigh of relief.

* * *

Her heart pounded in her chest and she lay helpless as she came back to herself. She needed a moment, but impatience won out. Him. Inside her. On her. Everywhere. Now.  
Dropping her legs from his shoulders, splaying them wider, she shuffled up the bed and beckoned him to follow with a crooked finger.

He did as requested, settling between her legs and resting above her with his weight on palms deep in the mattress on either side of her head.

“I hate to ask, I wasn’t expecting this, but…”

“No condoms,” she replied, sadly because it might mean this would end. “I know you’re clean, I think you know I am too. And,” she said, pausing because the next part was the hardest, “I can’t get pregnant.”

Sadness darkened his features. One hand moved to brush her hair away from her face but he didn’t bend down to kiss her, didn’t meet her lips with his. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and buried his long, hard length deep inside her.

It was so slow, so gentle, she knew he was holding back, scared to hurt her this soon after cancer treatment. She didn’t want slow, didn’t need gentle. Raising her hips off the bed, pulling him in deeper, she squeezed her muscles around him once, twice, and brought her hands to his hips, urging him even closer, even deeper.

_Fuck me. Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me plead. Fuck me._

The only word she spoke out loud to make what she needed clear was: “Harder.”

A long, low groan vibrated against her neck from his lips. He eased up and slid out of her. “Turn around,” he said, his voice low, deeper than she had ever heard.

Licking her lips, Scully nodded and pushed herself up. Missing the feel of him inside her, needing that fullness again, that warmth, she turned quickly, resting on her knees, on her palms. Her legs slid further apart, and then she felt him move between them, felt his hands at her waist, her only warning before he pushed deep inside, filling her with every inch of himself, the tip of him sharper in the best way as he pistoned his hips and the sound of skin hitting skin drowned out their moans.

Scully gripped the sheet, clung to it to keep from collapsing her torso down as every part of her weakened. One of his hands left her waist and the tip of his finger found her clit, rubbed it without rhythm, messy like his thrusts. Thrusts which were shortening. From long, slow strokes, they sped up, short and sharp and hard. She couldn’t support herself; her body collapsed forward and she pressed her face into the pillow, letting it muffle her gasps. Her hips stayed raised and the slight change in position allowed him to hit her in new ways, new places, until every part of her thrummed with pleasure and her second orgasm built.

She felt him everywhere. She almost couldn’t breathe. The pillow swallowed most of the cry of her orgasm. She came hard, her inner walls clamping around him, contracting with her release. Wave after wave surged through her, and still he rubbed at her clit, and still he thrust hard and deep.

It was too much now, and she didn’t care.

_Don’t stop. Never stop. If this is our only time, make this go on forever._

He pulled out once her orgasm subsided and she whimpered from the loss.

“Scully, turn around,” he said, gentler this time. “I want to see you.”

With her liquid muscles protesting, she turned, onto her back again, and spread her legs. He entered her slower this time, with warning, rubbing his tip at her entrance before pushing in. Cupping her face with one large palm, his other hand on the mattress beside her head, he began to move again. She raised a leg and curled it over his thigh, gripped at his waist, and whispered, “Let go, Mulder.”

Eyes meeting in the softly lit room, bodies connecting so completely there was no space between them, Mulder pulled out, pushed in, over and over, strokes shortening, his breathing becoming as erratic as her own heartbeat. The friction coaxed her towards her third orgasm as his first approached.

Her name left his lips like a prayer. Still _Scully_ , because despite the fact he was coming deep inside her, first names were almost too intimate in that moment.

Mulder stilled. She thought for a moment he might collapse on her, braced herself for the weight, but he pulled out, rolled to the side without a word, and pulled her into his arms. Her back fit against his front like puzzle pieces, snug like his body made for her frame. His lips found her neck again and he pressed hot, open-mouth kisses to her slick skin.

 _I love you_ circled around her brain, threatening to tumble out from between her lips. She clamped her mouth closed. No. Not tonight. She wouldn’t ruin this perfect moment they had shared.


	7. Chapter 7

They made a deal, in Scully’s motel room. Laying in bed, his front pressed to her back, softening erection against her thighs, his arms wrapped around her and holding her close. They made a deal. This was it. Just that one time. No more. Not until they were both ready for the consequences a relationship would bring. Somehow managing to discuss it without even mentioning the word relationship.

“We won’t make a habit of this, Mulder.”

“Just tonight, Scully,” he murmured into her mussed hair. “A celebration of life.”

“Yes,” she agreed, speaking into the darkness. “For life.”

They hadn’t kissed, not once, not lips on lips. The intimacy of it added to the list of things they weren’t ready for. Just brief touches of his lips to her temple, her cheek, her neck. She shivered in his arms. His hold tightened on her, like he must think her cold. No, not cold. In love.

“I think this was inevitable,” Scully continued, finding her voice, surprising herself by how steady it was. “And it only took us four years.”

“Let’s hope next time isn’t four years from now.” He punctuated his words with another kiss to her neck.

Her body shook against his as she laughed softly. “No. Let’s try for three years.”

“Three?” he said, almost sulked. He slid his lips across her neck again. “I’m going to need some new tapes to get me through that many years now that I know what I’ve been missing.”

He wasn’t wrong. She might too. “How about no number of years, no expectations,” she murmured into the darkness, the lamp extinguished now, the moon through the blinds the only light. “Just us, carrying on, seeing where it leads us.”

* * *

They had no idea, in that moment, in that bed in Montana, that it would be a full year before they almost kissed outside his apartment. That it would be another year after that before he told her he loved her, and that it would be year number three, or year seven in total, when he finally kissed her on New Year’s Eve, took her home, made love to her long into the night.

Year seven. When every case ended with her in his bed, or him in hers. When they finally started to use words to define this thing they had.

When handcuffs and ice cubes were introduced to the bedroom. When he opened a drawer one evening to discover a collection of toys, endeavoring to use each one in turn to make her come.

Year seven: when a son was conceived.


End file.
